Page 6 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity had dressed carefully for Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic. As far as she understood it, the lady would have the lighting of her house rather low. Sideboards would be placed throughout the rooms, and one was to go staggering about in the dimness, filling their plate on their own.

Felicity had concluded that her crème silk was the best choice, as a darker color might cause her to fade into the woodwork under low light. To go with it, she had taken out her emerald necklace as it was large and would catch the light, further drawing attention to her location. She also thought the color was a subtle nod to her plan—green, the color of envy.

It would be crucial that the Earl of Rustmont observed that she was being trailed about by Mr. Stratton. It would do her no good at all if he could not make her out in the low light.

She hurried down the stairs to find her aunt introducing the new butler to her father.

“Mr. Why, is it? I might ask why myself,” the duke said, eyeing the butler.

“Sykes-Wycliff, Your Grace,” the butler said.

Felicity pressed her lips together to stop her laughter. Her aunt would know as well as she did that her father was in no confusion over the man’s name.

“I’ve told my sister a hundred times that Mrs. Right takes care of everything,” the duke said.

“Roland, do stop being ridiculous, a member of the nobility must have a butler and that is that.”

“Oh really? If I must have one, then where did that rascal Herring get off to? Just disappeared one day, didn’t he? Never to be seen or heard from again.”

Mr. Sykes-Wycliff appeared stricken to hear the name of Mr. Herring. Felicity wondered what Mrs. Right had told him about that nervous fellow’s final hours as the duke’s butler.

Lady Marshfield turned her gaze to Felicity. Then her gaze dropped and settled on her emerald necklace. “Do change that necklace, Felicity. It does not suit a young lady—it is too presumptuous. Choose a simple gold chain, or pearls if you must.”

“That necklace was given Felicity by me,” the duke said, “after her poor mother bid us her final adieu and made her way to the great beyond. I divided up all the jewelry between the girls.”

“That is all well and good, Roland, but a stone of that size is more suited to a married lady.”

“Ignore her,” the duke said to Felicity. “Your aunt would have liked to get her hands on every piece, but I gave her nothing! Not even that horrific enameled parrot brooch Valor insists on wearing all the time!”

The sound of the carriage rolling to a stop outside prompted Mr. Sykes-Wycliff to race to the doors and open them, likely in a bid to end his first interaction with his new employer.

“Never mind anything the duke says,” Lady Marchfield counseled Mr. Sykes-Wycliff, “simply carry on with your duties. According to your references, you are an exceedingly regular sort of person, which is precisely what this house needs.”

Her father appeared resigned that this new person was to be in the house for a little while at least. His parting advice was, “Follow Mrs. Right’s direction in everything—she knows the house and she knows me .”

One would suppose that a recently arrived butler would be grateful to receive direction on how to proceed. If Felicity could read Mr. Sykes-Wycliff’s expression, though, she rather thought he was terrified of Mrs. Right.

So soon, too! She suspected that whatever was to go on between their dearest long-time housekeeper and this new butler, it would be vastly interesting.

Felicity hurried out to the carriage behind her aunt and her father. She had presumed Lady Marchfield would go in her own carriage, as she must have come in it, but the lady climbed into the duke’s carriage.

She supposed that meant there was to be a lecture on the way to Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic, rather than the jolly time she and her father might have had.

After they were all settled, the duke said to his sister, “Might I inquire why I find you in my carriage?”

“Lord Marchfield has gone on to his club. He deposited me here on his way,” Lady Marchfield said.

“Deposited you, has he?” the duke said. “No doubt he’s tried that gambit before—depositing you somewhere in the hopes that you can’t find your way back. He’ll be fingers crossed all night! Well, if he thinks he will pawn you off on me…”

Felicity covered her mouth to suppress a snort of laughter. One of her father’s favorite pastimes was to speculate on how much Lord Marchfield would like to be rid of Lady Marchfield. None of it was true, as far as she could see. Lord and Lady Marchfield seemed very cordial toward one another. Of course, what was true did not often trouble the duke.

Lady Marchfield sniffed and said, “I will not even dignify that diatribe with a response. I have other matters on my mind. Felicity, you presented yourself exceedingly odd at Almack’s. This evening will either cement that opinion of you or turn it on its head. You must be everything graceful and demure. Say nothing odd, do nothing odd. With any luck, it will be thought that whatever anybody believed they witnessed at Almack’s was just first-time out jitters.”

“Jitters?” the duke asked, his tone incredulous. “You want people to think that one of my daughters got the jitters?”

“Since when do you give a toss for anybody else’s opinion?” Lady Marchfield asked her brother.

“I am afraid my aunt has you boxed in there, Papa,” Felicity said, laughing.

“I’d box his ears if I could,” Lady Marchfield muttered.

“I heard that!” the duke shouted. “I’ve a mind to deposit you on the road, just like your beleaguered husband did. With any luck, you’ll wander into the Rats’ Castle and never be seen again. Find the Seven Dials and walk straight ahead! That’s my advice.”

Felicity thought she’d better turn her father’s and her aunt’s attention to another matter before they ended wrestling in the carriage. She would not like her dress to be rumpled in a fray.

“Aunt, you are to know I have a particular plan for this evening. I will make the Earl of Rustmont wild with envy, so he will be driven to claim me as his own.”

Interestingly, this news seemed to drain the color from her aunt’s cheeks. “The earl? What? Envy? What do you mean by that?”

“My God, woman,” the duke said, “can you not even understand simple sentences anymore? She said she’s to make Rustmont jealous. Simplest thing in the world to comprehend.”

“Felicity,” Lady Marchfield said sternly, “I do not know what has got into your head, but I strongly caution you to do nothing at all like… whatever it is you are thinking. If you have any inclination in the earl’s direction, I applaud it. But you must realize that Lord Rustmont is an exceedingly proper gentleman and will not tolerate any odd behavior or effrontery.”

“Then he’s come to the wrong family, hasn’t he?” the duke said, snorting at his own wit.

“The point is,” Lady Marchfield said, “he has not come to the family. He has danced with Felicity one time, and a very strange dance it was. I do not imagine he will venture near her again if there is even a whiff of anything else strange.”

Felicity did feel the sting of that opinion. Certainly, the earl would not avoid her over a sneeze. Or series of sneezes. Of course he would not. He just needed to be propelled to her side.

“He has a weak spot though,” Felicity said. “You’ll see. He will be mad with envy and fly to my side because Mr. Stratton will pretend to be overcome by my charms.”

“Mr. Stratton?” Lady Marchfield sputtered.

Felicity waved her hands. “Do not fear, Aunt, I do not have the slightest interest in Mr. Stratton—he is smarmy and callow, though he may outgrow it with time.”

Lady Marchfield seemed silenced by this news. Though, Felicity did notice the lady gripped her reticule as if she wished to choke the life out of it.

The duke erupted in loud laughter that filled the small confines of the carriage. “Here I was, thinking it would be all drudgery to launch all these girls out of my house, and now I see I am to be vastly entertained!”

Before Lady Marchfield could respond to that comment, the carriage rolled to a stop. Whatever was to be this evening, it was set to begin.

*

Percy had worn his best coat to Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic, primarily in a bid to convince his father that he was set on Lady Felicity and could not be moved by any recent complaints.

The old soldier had tracked down his viscountess and closeted himself with that lady for most of the morning. Under cover of the occasional shouts of “I warn you!” Percy had slipped out of the house and taken his horse on a long ride round the park.

He’d found his mother waiting for him when he tried to slip in again to change before heading off to his club.

“Do sit down, Stratton,” his mother said, waylaying him the hall and ushering him into the drawing room.

He did as he was bid, preparing to fight off whatever she was intent on hurling in his direction.

“Your father is in a state,” the viscountess said.

“Father is always in a state,” Percy pointed out.

“Yes, well, he has a rather volcanic temperament,” the viscountess admitted. “Inherited by his ancestors in trade, no doubt.”

His mother delighted in assigning blame to his tradesman ancestors for any and all difficulties.

“This time, though, he has reached a new pinnacle of hysteria,” the viscountess said. “I hardly knew what to do with him. Now really, my darling, why must you be set on this Lady Felicity?”

“Why did you become set on my father?” Percy asked by way of an answer.

The viscountess seemed pensive. “That is becoming more and more a mystery,” she said softly.

“And there you have it,” Percy said. “Love is mysterious.”

“Come now, I do not think you will find it at all comfortable to wed a lady with her… peculiarities. Those sorts of things lurk in the family blood, you see. Think of the children of such a union!”

“Nonsense,” Percy said. “The duke may be mad as a spring hare, but Lady Felicity is only a touch mad. Just think, mother, have I inherited my father’s temper?”

“Well, no. Goodness no, your cheerful temperament comes from my side.”

Percy had hopped up and kissed his mother’s cheek, as really there was no benefit to continuing the conversation. “I am certain that my children with Lady Felicity will all take after me and I know you are fond of me. You will like them exceedingly well and it will all work out splendidly. If the lady can be wooed. That is what I do not yet know.”

He hurried from the room before his mother could reply.

Now, he was drifting round near Lady Jellerbey’s front doors, making a great show of looking as if he were pining for Lady Felicity. His father glared at him from the other side of the hall and his mother patted the viscount’s arm to keep his volcanic temper in check.

The one thing that had begun to weigh on his mind was how long he could keep the whole ruse going. What if Rustmont did not cooperate? After all, Percy had invented the idea that Rustmont must be made envious. What if the earl ignored whatever display he and Lady Felicity would put on for his benefit?

Percy gave his shoulders a little shake. He could not contemplate defeat when the game had just begun.

There. There she was. Lady Felicity was looking smashing in a crème silk dress with the light adornment of a subtle braid at the bottom of the cap sleeves and along the neckline. She wore a rather large emerald round her neck. Very large actually. Why did that seem daring?

He supposed he was so used to young ladies hardly adorning themselves at all—a gold chain, a small cross, maybe a string of undersized pearls. Here was a whopping stone any duchess would be pleased to call her own. She was not a lady who wished to hide in the shadows.

Percy hurried over, and as he did so he saw Lord Rustmont just coming in the doors. Was that inconvenient or perfect? On the one hand, it was Lady Felicity’s fever dream to make that stiff fellow envious, so that was perfect. The lady would play her part and that would help him on the other side—convincing his parents he was set on her.

Of course, it would be very inconvenient if the lord paid no notice of their charade.

“Lady Felicity,” he said, with a sweeping bow. “Lady Marchfield, Your Grace.”

“It’s the mister again, eh?” the duke said.

Percy nodded, as it seemed to be the sum total of what the duke knew about him.

“Mr. Stratton,” Lady Marchfield said through pursed lips.

“He’s Stratton? What ho? This is the game, is it?” the duke said, laughing so heartily he clutched at his rather round stomach.

As Percy had not the slightest idea what the duke meant, he just smiled. In his experience, smiling was generally suitable for every occasion but for a deathbed or funeral.

“Really, Papa,” Lady Felicity said.

Percy did not know if Lady Felicity understood her father’s cryptic remarks either, but as was beginning to seem usual she was clearly amused by him.

Behind him, Percy heard his father say, “Stratton, do come away and see what’s on the sideboard in the library.”

The sideboard in the library? If that was not a pathetic gambit, he did not know what was. His poor viscount was attempting to be sly and lead him away from Lady Felicity. Whatever his father was, sly was not on the list.

Percy turned and found his father red in the face as if he’d run across the great hall. His mother had stayed behind and was just now wringing her hands from across the room.

“Your Grace, Lady Marchfield, Lady Felicity,” Percy said, “my father, Viscount Denderby.”

“The duke and I are acquainted,” the viscount said.

“Are we?” the duke said, looking puzzled. “When? How? Remind me.”

Through rather gritted teeth, the viscount said, “The last we met was in Lady Vanderwake’s drawing room some twenty years ago.”

The duke shrugged. “Not much to go on, if you ask me.”

“The lady’s curtains were set afire?” the viscount said.

“The curtain fire! That’s right, it’s all coming back to me. I was playfully keeping the candle away from Lady Margaret, as she claimed she wished to read. Well! These things happen.”

Did those things happen?

“But say,” the duke went on, seeming very jolly to recall the curtain fire, “you’re the sire of this jackanapes mister, are you?” He’d pointed in Percy’s direction to make clear who he referred to.

Percy’s eyes widened. He never understood much of what the duke said, but why on earth should he be called a jackanapes?

Unless Lady Felicity had informed her father of the ruse, a circumstance that he’d not foreseen. He’d been too wrapped up in what a usual father would think of such a thing. It seemed the duke thought it a very good joke.

Percy only prayed that the duke would not give the game away to his father.

“Jackanapes?” the viscount asked.

“Yes, yes, very amusing. Look, there’s Rustmont. Let us get this thing off the ground.”

Lady Marchfield laid a hand on her brother’s arm. “Roland!” she said in a warning tone.

It was a tone entirely lost on the duke. Rather, he shouted, “Rustmont! Get over here.”

Lord Rustmont looked exceedingly surprised to be shouted at. Percy saw the flicker of annoyance in his expression that was speedily covered over with a tight smile.

He did make his way over, as Percy supposed he knew not what else to do after a duke had yelled those particular instructions.

After the introductions had gone round, which included the duke pointing out that he had not laid eyes on Viscount Denderby since he’d set Lady Vanderwake’s curtains on fire, Percy noticed Lady Felicity blushing rather prettily.

Why should Rustmont have such an effect on the ladies? It was deuced unfair—the fellow was a stick.

“Come with us, Rustmont,” the duke said. “Denderby here is going to show us something spectacular on the sideboard in the library.”

“I never said spectacular,” the viscount said.

“What did you say it was?” the duke asked.

“I didn’t say,” Percy’s father said, beginning to look vastly uncomfortable.

As well he didn’t, Percy thought.

“Well, let us go and discover it,” the duke said.

Percy put his arm out and Lady Felicity laid her hand on it.

As an added touch, she said, “Gracious, Mr. Stratton, you are always very insistent in holding out your arm.”

Percy surreptitiously glanced at Lord Rustmont. That fellow looked a bit dejected. He supposed Lady Felicity would take that as a compliment. Percy rather thought he was dejected over having been pulled into this ridiculous party that was to set off to examine a sideboard.

No matter, they would arrive to the library and see what the viscount could pull out of his hat regarding the remarkable thing he claimed he’d seen.